Fights
by arjelle
Summary: One of those times Alfred and Arthur get into a fight. Sometimes they are serious, other times... are just... other times. USUK.


**Title** Fights**  
>Summary <strong>One of those times Alfred and Arthur get into a fight. Sometimes they are serious, other times... are just... other times.**  
><strong>**Disclaimer **I own nothing**  
>Warning <strong>I don't really know. This is AU.

"Don't you bloody dare draw that line!"

Okay, introducing Arthur Kirkland. He is well, age doesn't matter, but just so you know, he's twenty-eight at this time. As far as any of us know, he's British- technically, English, since he's from England. He is a prissy little Englishman who is told to stay at home while his boyfriend works.

That boyfriend is Alfred F. Jones, age twenty-four. The man works in the realty department, selling houses and whatnot, trying to make a living for Arthur and him. As a 'hero' he wants Arthur to relax and all of that since he has done so much for him. At times, it works out; others, not so much.

Most likely, like this moment right here.

"This is America! You can't tell me what to do! _I have freedom on my side._"

They usually yell at each other, at times disrupting the neighbors, who have actually gotten used to their arguing. Truthfully, the Prussian that lives with his brother across the street pulls out a chair whenever the two argue outside with a bucketful of popcorn and soda.

Now, for what they're arguing about can range from various situations- weather it be not washing the dishes or even using incorrect grammar. They have learned to accept each other as they are, but there are things that they don't mean to do, but they accidentally do it on purpose.

"Your bloody freedom doesn't count in this situation you twit!"

When they argue, they say something stupid or completely irrelevant.

"You _mom _doesn't count in this situation!"

Something like that.

Honestly if they wanted to earn money, they should just ask for money about their arguments, just saying. Also, there are those times where someone visits them at the wrong time.

"Like, guys! I totally need whip cream and stuff," A sing-song voice called through the door while knocking on it. That is Feliks, by the way, don't ask about his last name, we're just referring to his first name, so it doesn't matter.

"I am going to get the door," Arthur hissed as he stomped over to the door. Opening, it he flashed a sincere, yet fake smile at their Polish neighbor. "Hello Feliks, nice day isn't it?"

Feliks stared at Arthur before sighing. "Like, don't tell me that you and Alfred are arguing again. The whole neighbor can totally figure it out, Gilbert's out on the lawn and everyone knows what that means. Anyways, I just need your whip cream."

"We don't have any," Arthur replied only for Feliks to snicker.

"_Suuuurreeeeee,_" Feliks giggled. "Did you like, you know, _'used it up'?_"

"Good bye Feliks,"

"Like wait! I was just kidding I-"

So yeah, there's Feliks for you.

When Arthur was walking back to the living room, he was rubbing his temples before staring at Alfred laying some of the clothing on the floor. "What are you doing?"

"Since you would most likely bitch at me for drawing a line across the room, I'm laying the line," Alfred shrugged as he dropped some more clothing on the floor.

"_No, _just, _no,_" Arthur shook his head. "Pick those up right now, _you are not drawing the line._"

"Fine! Fine!" Alfred grumbled as he began to pick up the clothing before dashing to the computer and opened up Microsoft Word.

"What are you doing?"

"Typing the line, that's what," Alfred answered as he pressed down the shift and underscore keys. After a few minutes he stepped away from the computer and presented pages and pages of a long line of underscores. "There, the line's been typed."

And then there are those times where one of them feels tired so they just want to end the fight right there. "Alfred."

"Arthur," Alfred whispered before dropping on the rolling chair, which rolled back a couple of inches when he did. "Tell me what you want from me."

"I want you to stop referencing songs everywhere," Arthur replied. "Especially if you are meeting important people."

"Hey, I didn't criticize you when you met Mattie's boyfriend," Alfred pointed out. "Why should I be any different when I talk to your brother?"

"You called him beef and when he started to chase you, guess who began singing "Can't Touch This" before he tackled you before beating you up?" Arthur stated.

"Well, hello! Angus, beef, McAngus!" Alfred cried. "And I was just giving him the benefit of the doubt!"

"Alfred-"

"Thank God he didn't see that tattoo I gave him when he was sleeping," Alfred said to himself in a hushed tone, but Arthur heard it.

"You did what!"

"It's just temporary! Jeez, don't manstrate on me!" Alfred whimpered holing his hands up in defense. "But if you want to give him a better impression, then I'll try, because I'm the hero like that."

Arthur let out a self-satisfied smile. "Thank you."

Rolling over to the desk, Alfred grabbed his sandwich and began eating it. "So, uhm, whensh teh nexsht time I'm meeting him."

"Don't speak with you mouth full!" Arthur scolded as he began to wipe the corners of Alfred's mouth.

Alfred grinned sheepishly before pecking Arthur's cheek. "Sorry. So when?"

"Well..."

And the doorbell rang before very harsh knocks were inflicted on the door.

"My funeral _is_ planned, right?"

**Notes** "Beef" is the nickname my role-play friends and I used on their Angus muse. It grew on me and eventually became one of my headcanons. Because Angus, beef, McAngus... _yeaahhhh..._


End file.
